


Just Live a Day

by darkrose



Category: The State Within
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-05
Updated: 2009-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unsettling dream and an unexpected visitor keep Nicholas off balance as he tries to deal with the fallout from the conspiracy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Live a Day

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for the series.

_Take a chance--like all dreamers you can't find no other way  
You don't have to dream it all, just live a day._

"Save A Prayer", Duran Duran  


* * *

"Mark, you've got to get away from here!" Nicholas shouted. He could hear the screaming from all directions now, not just from the woman Mark was trying to drag out of the car; the air was thick with debris and smoke, and the stench of burning metal was overlain by the smell of burning flesh. It was Vrbanja and Sarajevo and Mogadishu all over again, and Mark would _not_ let go, wouldn't give up and he was going to die and there wasn't a goddamned thing Nicholas could do--

Nicholas didn't make a sound other than a sharp intake of breath as he forced himself awake and sat up. After a few moments, he got up and padded into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He thought about getting a drink, but the clock on the nightstand had read 3:30. In four hours, he would have to get up and go into the office for the morning before driving down to northern Virginia for Christopher's funeral. He needed to be at the top of his game for that; Michael Styles may have known that his brother was gay, but his parents certainly didn't, and Nicholas didn't want to let anything slip to out Christopher now that he was dead.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror and tried not to think about the fact that every night for nearly a week now, his dreams hadn't been haunted by his dead, disgraced lover, but by Mark, very much alive and being credited with a diplomatic masterstroke. At first, he'd thought it was residual fear of getting a call from Vauxhall Cross telling him that Brydon had to be kept from going public at all costs. The only problem with that, of course, was that he'd been having dreams about Mark well before this whole mess had started. It wasn't even that he'd ever thought there was a chance of anything, but he'd managed to make himself think of Mark as The Ambassador and not in any way as a sexual entity--difficult as that was sometimes--until recently.

_Not that anything's going to happen now--that's even less likely._ Nicholas shut the tap off. Jane Lavery was intelligent, resourceful, and if she'd been a man, he'd have said she had balls. She was far more suited to Mark than the perfectly pedigreed, incredibly bland Caroline Hanley and in addition to kicking himself for having underestimated her, Nicholas genuinely felt guilty for those moments when he wished that things had gone down a bit differently in Tampa.

The door buzzer startled him. Nicholas frowned; who in the hell could possibly be at his door at this time of morning? He waited, thinking that it might be someone hitting the wrong button. When it buzzed again, he dashed into the bedroom for sweat pants and his gun, and went to the door. The monitor showed a familiar profile, and for a long moment, all he could do was stare. Finally, he pressed the button to let Mark in.

"Hi...I'm sorry if--I saw that your light was on, so I thought...may I come in?" Nick waved him in, checking the hallway out of habit before closing the door. Mark stood in the middle of the living roomish space, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

"I couldn't sleep," Mark explained, "and then I remember that you'd asked for the afternoon off, and I just wondered how you were doing." The words came out in an uncharacteristic rush, as though Mark had rehearsed them but still wasn't sure if they were what he wanted to say. Nicholas was actually rather touched. After the events of the past couple of weeks, Mark was the last person he'd expected to offer sympathy to him, and especially not for Christopher.

"Thanks," he said. "Can I get you anything?"

"Have you got any scotch?"

Nicholas chuckled. "Silly question. What--oh, here..." He went around to the kitchen and found what he was looking for near the back of the liquor cabinet. "Eighteen-year-old Glenmorangie. Hadn't gotten around to opening it yet." He poured a glass for Mark, and after a moment's hesitation, poured one for himself as well.

"Thanks." Mark took a sip, hummed appreciatively, then stared down into the glass. "I owe you an apology," he said quietly.

"What for?" Nicholas was honestly puzzled. If anything, he felt as though he should apologize to Mark.

"For...I don't know. For not trusting you, I suppose."

Nicholas couldn't help it; he laughed out loud. "Mark, you said it yourself: I'm a duplicitous bastard."

"And as you said, it's your job. It wasn't fair of me to try to push you to show where your loyalties were. Are."

The conversation was rapidly getting out of his control, and Nicholas hated that. "I should have put it all together sooner," he muttered. _How much sooner, to have saved Sinclair and Borisvitch? What about Luke Gardner, or Anthony Hanley and the rest of the passengers on that plane? When would I have had to figure it out in order to save Christopher?_

"Were your orders to kill me?" Mark asked abruptly. "If Usman's generals hadn't decided he'd gone too far, and Warner hadn't blinked....you knew I meant it, that I was going to call Matthew Weiss and give him an even bigger story. What did MI6 tell you to do?"

Mark's eyes, Nicholas noticed yet again, were almost the same exact shade of blue as his own. It was rather disconcerting, especially with the way Mark was staring at him. "Something a little less permanent." _Hopefully._ "I was to drug you; get you on a plane to London--"

"And into that psychiatric wing you mentioned? Thanks."

"It was better than the alternative," Nicholas said. _If I could have done it._ He ran a finger around the edge of his untouched glass.

"I'm sorry," Mark said again, his eyes still focused on Nicholas. "I didn't realize it, not until just today, what that part of it meant, and why I was so...infuriated before, when I thought'd you'd...oh, for God's sake--" He leaned over and kissed Nicholas, who almost dropped his scotch in surprise. He'd have thought he was still asleep and dreaming, except that for some reason, they'd done nearly everything in his dreams _except_ kiss. Mark tasted warm, like coffee and scotch; if Mark kissed like this all the time, it was a wonder anyone ever let the man out of bed.

When Mark finally sat back, looking gratifyingly flustered, Nicholas opened his mouth to say something totally different from what came out of his mouth, which was: "I didn't think you were gay."

"I'm not." Mark paused. "Bisexual, I suppose. I've never kissed another man before now."

"I'm..." _Confused. Shocked. Really turned on._ "...flattered." Nicholas took a deep breath. "What about--"

Mark reached out and put a hand over his mouth. "Don't. I know what you're going to say, and the answer is that I don't know. I'm not sure about anything except that I've wanted to do what I just did for ages, but I couldn't, and I probably shouldn't now, but I may never have the chance again, and--"

Nicholas couldn't resist; he licked Mark's palm. Mark blinked and let his hand slip a little, and Nicholas took the opportunity to bury his fingers in that thick, dark hair --_doesn't feel at all like Christopher's_\--and pull Mark close.

"Stop talking, Mark," he said, and he kissed him back.


End file.
